


A Question of Intent

by doctor_jones



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1943, Gen, Protective!Bucky, pre-serum steve, stubborn!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jones/pseuds/doctor_jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky diverts Steve from trying to enlist (again). But as a result, he's got to come clean with his best pal. Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Intent

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques welcome. I'm shackletons-sardines on Tumblr, for more fic and original writing.
> 
> Inspired by [this post here](http://historicallyaccuratesteve.tumblr.com/post/83032306968/magpieandwhale-absentlyabbie-shinykari) at the Historically Accurate Steve Rogers blog. And yes: in case you're wondering, the baseball game that they're at is a real one that really happened between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the Boston Braves on Saturday, June 12, 1943 - two days before Steve enlists at the World Exposition of Tomorrow.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"See? Isn't this better than Yonkers?"

Steve didn't turn. He slouched further into his seat, arms crossed, and glared out at the green grass of Ebbets Field like he was trying to blow up Dolph Camilli with his mind, and yeah, Bucky could sympathize. I mean, how do you screw up that play? And against the  _Braves?_ They're sixth in the league, for Chrissakes, you can't just  _give it away_.

Yeah, Bucky  _could_ sympathize, if Steve's snit actually had anything at all to do with Dolph Camilli. Bucky heaved a sigh and dropped back into his seat, hands full of concession-stand spoils. He jostled Steve's knee with his own, hoping to shake loose a response, but the stubborn punk just clenched his jaw a little tighter.

"C'mon, Stevie, I got you a hot dog." And a box of Cracker Jack, too, because bribery  _works,_ damn it _._  "Mustard, relish, and onions..." Bucky waved the food under Steve's nose. Steve cast a sidelong glance at Bucky that would have curdled milk, but he silently accepted the hot dog. Bucky took a bite of his own dog, and promptly sprayed crumbs everywhere when god-damn Dolph Camilli went first to third on a single. Steve, on the other hand, didn't so much as twitch.

Crap. Bucky began to doubt that Cracker Jack was gonna fix this.

Camilli helped him out, though, scoring a few minutes later to tie the game. That, apparently, was enough to soften the tension in Steve's jaw a little. You probably couldn't call it a  _smile_ , but it was a start.

"Yeah, okay," Steve mumbled.

"Speak up, buddy."

"Yeah,  _okay_ , this is better than spending the day getting tossed out of the recruiting office in Yonkers."

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat that? I thought I heard you say that I was  _right_  about something."

"Shut up, Buck."

The last of the cheers died down around them, settling back into the easy chatter of a Saturday ballpark crowd. Everywhere Bucky looked, the stands were a busy sea of bobbing heads. It was a hot day, one of the first really hot days of the year, and the promise of a breeze had tempted hordes of New Yorkers into the open air. Even that morning, the heat had driven Bucky outside in the dim light of dawn, fleeing the humid silence of the apartment and his sticky, sweat-soaked sheets.

Bare-chested and barefoot, he'd settled on the wooden alley stairs, pressing his back into the brick wall to soak up any lingering traces of cool night air. He'd lit a cigarette and stared at the curling smoke, not seeing it; seeing instead the ragged edges of the envelope he'd left sitting on his bedside table. The envelope that, when it arrived, had sunk into his life and started pulling in everything around it, like marbles on a bedspread when you set your dad's bowling ball in the middle. Like gravity.

Just...  _fuck_  that envelope.

Steve had nearly tripped over him there, heading out in his least baggy suit and his "definitely not lying" face. Bucky had seen that look enough times to know  _what_  the little jerk was sneaking off to do, if not exactly  _where._ So he'd clapped Steve on the shoulder and given him his loudest, shit-eatingest good morning!, dragging the poor guy inside and waking up the whole Barnes clan. Ma never let Steve escape her clutches in less than an hour - two, if there was a meal to be had, and Ma's breakfasts were  _balanced._

Bucky'd had to promise tickets  _and_  snacks to coax Steve to the ballpark. No smokes this week, maybe, but he'd take that trade, if it kept Steve off the train to Yonkers.

"I'm still gonna go, Buck. You know that, right?" Steve said, eyes fixed on the field below.

"Yeah, Steve. I know." Bucky sat a little straighter in his seat. "But I don't have to like it, and I don't have to let it happen on my watch-"

Steve's head snapped around. Hah.  _That_ got him. "I don't need your  _permi_ -"

"-especially not when the Bums are playing at home. Have some Cracker Jack." Bucky waggled the open box in Steve's face, and popped a piece in his mouth with a wide grin. "C'mon, you can even have the prize."

"I'm  _serious_ about this, Bucky, this is something I have to do. At least let me go with you when you sign up." Steve swatted the Cracker Jack box away.

Something cold grabbed Bucky's heart. His eyes slid from Steve's and he cleared his throat, willing the warmth creeping into his face to creep right back out again. He was gonna need to have a stern chat with the universe about the concept of fairness."Uh, yeah. Pal. I..."  _I what? What are you gonna tell him?_ "Um."

Realization dawned on Steve's face.  _Shit._

"Oh." Steve's voice shot up a couple octaves. His eyebrows were making a run for his hair like deer bolting for the tree line. He probably thought he was playing it casual; Bucky would've laughed, if this were any other conversation, and told Steve he wasn't fooling anybody. He was tempted to do it anyway.

"You already enlisted."

Bucky pressed his lips together. Down on the field, Whitey Wietelmann cracked a single. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Steve lowered his eyes, apparently engrossed in the scuffed toes of his shoes. "You get your orders yet?" The hurt in his voice was plain. He really was a godawful liar.

"Not yet," Bucky sighed. When Steve said nothing more, Bucky leaned back in his seat and shoved an entire handful of Cracker Jack in his mouth. He glared at the back of god-damn Dolph Camilli's head, and aggressively ignored Steve slouching in the corner of his eye. Back to square one.

He all but jumped when Steve broke the heavy silence. "I'm-" Steve cleared his throat. "Good for you, Buck. That's real good." Something in Bucky's gut twisted. He didn't turn his head.

"I'm proud of you."

Damn it, the Baseball Gods owed Bucky a Dodgers win for this, at  _minimum_.

***

The Baseball Gods, it seemed, didn't owe Bucky shit.

He kicked the back door closed behind him and it slammed, hard enough to rattle the dishes in their cupboards. Bucky winced, waiting for Ma to yell, but all he heard from the back room was the radio, turned up a little too loud.

Bucky headed to his room and closed the door - quietly - before sagging onto his bed, head in his hands. Steve was home for the night, but it was only a matter of time before he hopped a train to Paramus, or, or, or Newark, or who knows where. Especially now that he knew Bucky was shipping out. Especially now that Bucky wouldn't be around to stop him.

The letter sat on his nightstand, peeking out of its torn envelope, looking for all the world like plain old paper and ink. But, Basic Training or no, Bucky knew a grenade when he saw one. He picked it up, pulling out the single typed page and scanning the words. Hoping that this time it would say something different; knowing that every time, it would say

"...you are hereby notified that you have now been selected for training and service in the ARMY."

No matter which way you looked at it, Bucky was pretty sure that "keeping your punk friend out of trouble" didn't qualify you for a deferment. And Steve - Steve would've been  _proud_  to get a letter. But instead, Steve had to settle for being proud of Bucky. For having the courage to enlist.

Bucky punched a wall.

_Ow ow OW god damn it_ ow  _that was stupid_. He cradled his hand, knuckles split and bleeding. That was stupid. The letter was stupid. Lying to Steve was stupid. The war was stupid, the Nazis were stupid, leaving Steve on his own was stupid.

But it didn't look like Bucky had a choice.

Damn it.


End file.
